Halo
by Vinnie K
Summary: When he tells her he will stay in touch, Lisbon wonders if he can hear the sound of her heart shattering. For a mentalist, he could be pretty oblivious at times. Jisbon one-shot.


**Disclaimer:** Don't be silly, I don't own the show. The lyrics used are owned by Beyonce, not me. I own nothing but a crazy mind.

**A/N:** I got this idea when I saw the repeat of the finale last week and 'Halo' came up on my iPod shuffle. It's my first Mentalist fic, so feedback would be greatly appreciated. Enjoy it, and let me know what you think please (:

* * *

It is that night, after they have wrapped up the case and everyone has gone home, that Lisbon walks out of her darkened office into the bullpen. Her eyes scan the open space and immediately narrow on the worn leather couch.

He was missing.

Lisbon knows Jane was here somewhere, his car was still parked out front when she had gone past it only an hour earlier on her way back from a local store. He was here…Lisbon just wondered where.

They hadn't talked about what he had done yet. There had been looks between them, her trying to decipher what he was feeling, him simply giving her his usual arrogant grin. Of course, he acted as if nothing happened. As if killing his one link to Red John hadn't fazed him. But she knew better, the entire team knew better, however Jane refused to acknowledge their attempts of comfort.

When Van Pelt had given him a concerned look, he had acted unfazed. When Cho had given him a gentle nod and one of his knowing looks, he had shaken his head, implying there was nothing wrong. When Rigsby had asked him out front, if he was okay, of course, he had only grinned and changed the subject.

Because that was just what Patrick Jane did.

He acted as if nothing harmed him.

Nothing scared him.

But Lisbon knew differently.

They both know something has shifted between them but they haven't dared to speak of it.

He wasn't the same man now.

She wasn't the same woman.

And so that is why she is now walking up the stairs, heading to the one other place in the CBI building that Jane found peace. Carefully pushing open the heavy door, Lisbon sees him immediately. He is standing with his hands in his pockets, his jacket discarded on the floor, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Unable to speak yet, Lisbon stands in the background and before she gets the chance to walk closer to him, the sound of his voice breaks through her thoughts.

"Whatever you want to say, say it now. Just don't expect me to care."

At first Lisbon is taken back by the harsh words, but then she steels herself as she moves closer. The attitude was expected, Lisbon thinks as she stops next to him. Of course he was angry, and upset, and hell, he probably resented her–Lisbon knew all of this, and so she would have to tread carefully when she spoke.

Looking up at him, Lisbon noticed his blank expression. Even now, the mask didn't crack. Speaking softly, Lisbon keeps her gaze steady when she says, "You didn't have to do it. You know that."

"So, I had a choice?" He asks and his voice is condescending when he continues quietly, "I don't think so."

"You did. And you did the right thing."

"Well, I know that."

Lisbon hears the sarcasm but chooses to ignore it. He had the right to act this way, she reminds herself, and so tries not to take offense, no matter how much it hurts her. "You did what was right," she tells him softly, silently praying he will understand. "You saved lives. Hold onto that."

A moment passes between them before he bites out, "Because that's all that matters, isn't it?"

There is a tinge of bitterness in his voice, and although she prepared herself for this, Lisbon is still taken back by his answer. She knows he is angry–he has every reason to feel this way–but it feels wrong that he should blame the lives he saved.

Saving a life should matter more than getting to Red John.

It was one more life he didn't get.

It was a triumph, at least in her eyes.

It should matter.

But it doesn't.

Before she has the chance to say more, his rough voice cuts through her thoughts, "We could have done it." He looks at her, his eyes haunted as he mutters, "We could have…" He doesn't finish his sentence, and the words that have been left unsaid disturb them both.

Jane laughs slightly under his breath, his focus not on Lisbon. It is as if he is talking to himself more than her. "But I did the right thing…" A crooked smile forms on his lips, his voice cheerfully bitter as he remarks, "Of course I did. Because I'm one of the good guys, aren't I?"

Lisbon wants to reassure him but nothing she can say will make this better. She wonders if he will ever get better.

It hurts her to think he may stay like this forever.

"There'll be more times," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. As she watches him stare out at the view before them, the urge to reach out and touch him, in some way–even if it is only two fingers against his arm–overcomes her, but she holds back. If she touches him, he might break. Or react to her in a way she is not sure they are ready for.

"We can do this," she reminds him. Her voice is stronger now and she tries to believe in herself when she says, "We're gonna do this. I know we can."

He knows what she is trying to do, but he can see through her. She is just unsure as he is. She doesn't believe a word she is saying; they are just empty words that are supposed to make him feel better. He can't help but think how pathetic it all sounds.

"Sure we can." Jane turns to look at her and his eyes run over her face briefly before he grins at her. "I don't doubt that, Lisbon."

Together with his empty grin and the clear sorrow hidden in his eyes, the sound of her name on his lips after what feels so long causes something to flutter in Lisbon's gut. There were moments where she felt herself pulled to him–mostly against her will–and for some reason, this was one of those moments. It was a strange urgency to be closer to him, to allow him behind her walls, to reassure him that it was okay to break down.

But each time she felt like this, Lisbon would remind herself that it wasn't right. This wasn't allowed. He didn't need this. He needed Red John. He needed to destroy him so much that it was tearing into his life, ripping away at the parts that kept him sane. He needed Red John and she had ruined any chance in the near future of getting to him.

Although Lisbon feels the familiar wrench of sadness, she doesn't dwell on it. This wasn't the moment to bring it up. Instead she looks at Jane, noticing his haggard expression, and realizes that this was a moment to comfort him, reassure him that eventually, things will get better.

Quietly, she says, "You just don't think you can last the wait."

For the first time, a genuine smile graces his lips. "Think you can read my mind, Lisbon?"

She shrugs, trying to keep the mood light. "Although it pains me to admit it, I guess you're rubbing off on me."

"And that can only be a good thing."

He smiles down at her and for a moment it is as if everything is okay again. With him smiling at her, and with her looking up at him with a confident stance, it feels as if the last couple of days never happened. The killings, the taunts, the failure, it was only a trick of the mind. It was a dream, a terrible one at that, and it was an illusion.

No matter how much they wanted to believe it, as soon as Lisbon blinked, the dream of pretending nothing was wrong broke and the loss came rushing back. It was like a punch to the gut, the sadness that entered Jane's eyes–he was tired of pretending when it came to Lisbon–caused Lisbon's heart to clench at the sight.

All she could do now was try to reassure him. It didn't matter how futile it may be.

"You did good," she reminds him, her eyes bright and wide as she looks up at him. Her voice is clear and strong as she tells him, "That's all that matters now."

This time when he smiles it is sad and haunted. "Sure," he replies, a sarcastic hint to the word.

"Jane…"

Lisbon is about to reach out to touch his arm, when he suddenly speaks, his question rushed, the words falling from his lips before he can stop them. "Are you okay?"

She blinks slightly at the abrupt question and thinks dryly that she should be asking him the same thing. Sighing gently, Lisbon nods her head, her dark waves bouncing slightly with the movement.

"I'm fine."

He nods and looks away from her. He doesn't respond for a moment before he states, "Then that's all I care about." And for once, his answer holds no resentment, no sarcasm, nothing besides sincerity. He nods again, his gaze unfocused as he murmurs, "As long as you're okay, then I'm fine."

They stand there for a while, a tense silence filling the air, Lisbon unsure of what to say, until Jane's soft voice cuts through the air again. "Next time…We're going to do it."

She nods automatically, "We'll do it."

"And then it'll be over."

Although she knows he is talking about Red John and the nightmare he calls his life, they both know what else is implied. His stint with the CBI, with her. Without Red John, without the need for vengeance, then why else would he continue? Yes, he was doing something that mattered, but really, did he want to do this?

He could live an easier life without this, surely. But then, they haven't considered the damage this job has done to him. For so long he has had nothing in his life besides this goal. He has felt nothing besides revenge and hate and determination. Without that…what else is left?

Lisbon wants to convince herself that she is enough of a reason for him to stay, but she doesn't tell him this. Instead she quietly replies, "And then it'll all be over. And you can move on."

He nods slightly and they once again fall into silence. It is after some time that he speaks again. "Sometimes I wonder what it would be like…After." They look at each other, their eyes meeting briefly, before Lisbon turns away first. Jane continues to stare at her and he refrains from touching her when he whispers, "We'll stay in touch."

His words sound so definite and sure that it breaks Lisbon's heart. She wants to tell him that he won't leave the CBI, and that he has nothing besides them, that although it is hard, this is where he can find happiness, but the words are stuck in her throat. And so, instead she turns to look up at him, and she feels her heart flutter slightly at the sight of his bright eyes staring at her, his curly blond hair lighting up in the darkness like a halo.

Suddenly she is reminded of what he did for her. Saving her. She wonders if it had been nothing but instincts or if maybe…

Diverting her gaze to the stretch of city before them, Lisbon swallows nervously before saying, "You're a good man, Jane. You deserve better than this. And one day, you'll get that."

He doesn't miss a beat when he replies, "Just not today. Or tomorrow. Or any day in the near future."

She wants to say something reassuring, but then, Lisbon knows better than to lie. He was right. He wouldn't get his happy ending for a long, long time and there was nothing she could do or say to make him feel better about it. All he could do now was survive until that day finally arrived.

Before she has a chance to continue talking, she feels a weight on her shoulders. Looking to her side, initially Lisbon frowns when she sees his hand resting on her upper arm. She then looks up at him, showing her surprise at his touch as she remarks, "You're touching me."

A small smile graces his lips and he doesn't look at her when he says, "Well done, Lisbon. I am indeed touching you. That's okay, isn't it?"

Although she wants to reply with a smart, snide remark, she doesn't because she has to admit that it feels nice. It only offered little comfort to the underlying pain they both felt but it would do for now.

It was all they had.

Maybe that is why Lisbon moves closer to him, the side of her body coming into contact with his. It felt right, having him rub gentle circles into her arm, her head resting against him as they stand in silence, quietly admiring the view of the faint lights that dotted the blackness in front of them.

And so perhaps it is this, Lisbon thinks, their moments of silence, the moments between them which gave them brief comfort and touch, which will eventually heal him. Lisbon doesn't know if this is true–it probably isn't–but as he sighs softly and closes his eyes, she is quietly determined to find out.

He may be hurt and incomplete but he had saved lives, whether he wanted to or not.

And for now, that was all that mattered.

* * *

_I can feel your halo, pray it won't fade away._

* * *

**Thanks for reading, it'd be nice to know what you thought of this (:**


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